Desuetude
by The Readers Muse
Summary: They never made it to Air Force One. Not in time anyway.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Olympus has Fallen," "London has Fallen" or "The Walking Dead." That is all someone else's playground.

 **Authors Note #1:** This story is based after the canon events of "Olympus has Fallen" and "London has Fallen," and is loosely based in "The Walking Dead" universe. – Sequel to "Ataphoi."

 **Warnings:** zombie apocalypse au, adult content, adult language, canon typical violence, blood, gore, injury, minor character death, loss, pre-slash.

 **Desuetude**

They never made it to Air Force One.

Not in time anyway.

When they pulled up to the perimeter fence there was a car sized hole through the poles and razor wire and bodies littered across the tarmac. It seemed like one plane idling on a runway wasn't as inconspicuous Central Command thought it would be. He didn't know if it was because of the dead or just people, but the Control Tower was still crackling cherry-red with flames. Spitting ash and electrical smoke like sparks across the empty runway as they idled to a stop beside the broken fence.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that no one was answering the radio anymore. The worst part was the skid-marks that'd been etched into the end of the runway. The worst part was the low battery light flashing on the satellite phone. The worst part was the way Ben had wobbled. Knees threatening to crumple underneath him as his hands knotted around what was left of the fence. Fingers draining bloodless and pale with the force of his grip as a truck drove past them, honking frantically. Maybe half a dozen people stuffed like sardines in the back. Like refugees from some far off war-torn country you saw every night on the news.

The worst part was been looking behind them when the dust cleared - _seeing them_. A crowd of shambling figures taking shape through the blacktop haze. The worst part was they didn't have time to mourn what could have been before he was pulling Ben into the car and strapping him in. Ignoring the jerking resistance from belt as Ben just sat there, staring blankly out the blood-streaked windshield like this was an eventuality he'd never considered and that nothing in his life had ever prepared for him it.

The worst part was coming to terms with the fact that their part in this might be over.

 _Conner. Trumbull. His daughter. Doris. Ted._

They were all safe somewhere.

They had to believe that.

They had to believe, otherwise there was nothing left.

They had to believe because it was a feeling that would eat them whole if they let it.

Now- now they just had to survive somehow.

 _Together._

* * *

He found it strange that this time around that wasn't the hard part.

Everything else was.

* * *

He got them to a house half a mile from the air strip before night fell. Deciding to stay put until they heard from Central Command before they figured out their next move. If they ever did. Personally, he wasn't holding out hope. Not when they were living out the worst-case scenario. But then again, he'd never really been in the job expecting things to always go smoothly either. Not where Ben was concerned anyway. It'd been a bad joke that'd made tracks with the guys after Kang's take-over. That either President Asher was a bad luck charm, or he was. Either way, no one had ever had the balls to make a decision one way or another.

The house was a small, one-level rancher with little gravel space beside the driveway just big enough for a missing camper van. At first glance it looked like the kind of place older people liked to retire in because it was low maintenance and didn't have stairs. And sure enough, it screamed 'retirement in the suburbs' loud enough that even he was tempted to lower his guard.

They knocked first.

Force of habit.

"Social niceties," Ben corrected as he peered through living room window. Dancing around a bit as he tried to avoid the thorns in the rose bushes. "Just because things went wrong doesn't mean we have to too, you know."

He didn't say anything to that. Instead he just flipped the mat and nudged the spare key out from underneath. Waiting until Ben shrugged, then nodded before sticking it in the lock and clicking it open.

The house smelled like faded florals and the shattered bottle of West West cologne that was slowly drying itself into opaque crusts across the dining room carpet.

It took him back to syrup slow Sunday mornings in the country. To watching his dad shave and kicking his heels against the closed toilet lid before his mom dragged them off to church. Rediscovering things he hadn't thought of in years as Ben stayed on his hip, easing through the dining room. Past china cabinets full of dishes no one was allowed to use and plastic chair protectors that made him wince when they rubbed together.

Ben's breath was stale and loud in his ear as they crept past wilting tomato plants standing sentry in the backyard garden. Past gentle blue walls speckled thick with photos of smiling children – grandchildren. Family shots that trailed into the living room - even taped across the ancient looking refrigerator that'd been left wide open. Filling the air with the smell of rotting food so strong that made Ben cover his nose with his shirt sleeves when they'd finally made sure the house was clear.

"I wonder where they went?" Ben questioned idly. Looking down at the empty cat dish beside the oven range, and the cat flap at the back door before opening the cupboards. Pulling out a bag of cat food and pouring what was left in the into the dish.

The hungry meow that followed wasn't entirely unexpected as a ball of white and brown fur streaked across kitchen tiles, but they still jumped anyway. Adrenaline cranked just a bit too high to take any movement that wasn't their own with any sort of grace.

The cat, however, was too hungry to care.

"There has to be more. More safe zones. More safe places. There has to be other country's- other states- that are doing better than us," Ben issued as they listened to the gentle _crunch-crunch_. Looking over at him as he leaned against the counter. Nudging the fridge closed in an effort to thin out the smell of at least half a half dozen things that'd gone bad. "Everything can't have just stopped. We know it hasn't. Trumbull is alive. That means continuity of government. Last we heard they were talking to the CDC. _...NATO._ It isn't over. _It can't be_."

"Yeah," he answered, rubbing his hand over his face as his palm came back gritty and flecked with red. Nodding as Ben went on a tangent about something Trumbull said about New York - how they'd blown the tunnel and bridge to stop the spread. But his heart wasn't in it.

Instead, he watched through the kitchen window as a woman - one of the dead - limped down the back alley. Pinging restlessly off trash-bins and fence posts as the stump where her right arm had been waved broken pearl-white bones from where it'd been chewed off at the forearm. Wondering what kind of virus could take a person and burn them out like this. Until they were just a shell of base drives and no pulse. How was the possible? Even for science? The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't help but think that-

"Mike?"

He looked up, realizing Ben was looking at him in that way he had. The one that was half political shrewdness and half something much worse. Something too damn close to fucking _pity_ than he could stand without wanting to hit something.

"I'm tired," he answered, cutting off any other avenue of conversation before it could start. Refusing to feel bad about it when the Ben's face fell before nodding. Telling him he would take first watch. Rolling up his sleeves with a determination he hadn't seen in a couple days as the man started opening and closing the cabinets. Seeing what they could do for dinner.

He shrugged out of the room the moment Ben's back was turned. Doing a quick recon before tightening up what he could for the night. Inching the car further into the carport and piling some scrap wood and trash in front of it. Hoping that if anyone came across it overnight they'd assume it wasn't working. Unable to stop himself from looking off in the direction of the capitol every so often as the acrid-singe of a distant fires set every part of him on edge.

He stayed outside longer than he needed to. Raking burst-capillary lines into his skin just so he had the excuse to look as wounded as he felt. Wondering if he could dig into himself far enough that he'd be able to find a piece that didn't know the smell of blood and burning things. A part that remembered the scent of Leah's favorite perfume and the soft smells that clung to his skin after they'd put their daughter to bed for the night. A part that wasn't lied to _this_ – whatever _this_ was.

Realizing, as dusk fell, that even if he did go back inside he wouldn't be able to tell the man what he wanted to hear anyway.

* * *

When it was his turn to sleep, he watched Ben read a yellow-paged murder mystery by candlelight through the crack of his lids instead. Remembering the moment his hands had fisted in his jacket collar. Eyes wide as the world around them tore itself apart in real time. Where the knot of secret service ringed around them thinned out and condensed like a living pulse as he pushed through the crowd to get to him.

 _"Mike! Mike!"_

It'd been the way Ben said it that got to him. That made him forget, at least for a little while, about what he'd seen. What he'd left behind. And what was waiting outside. Everything. _All of it._

They'd skated a thin line between friendship and professionalism long before the crash. After Kang they'd slowly gotten back to that. Back to what they'd been before. To boxing matches and early morning runs - to banter and easy silences. But after London, well, the lines had been all but obliterated. There was only so many times you could go through something like that with someone and not come out of it wanting to call the President by his _name_ rather than his title. Finding himself saying stupid shit like, "I could use a beer," after Ben cocked his head and loosened his tie at the end of his shift. Pretending they were just two guys putting their feet up after a long day at work while the others did a shit job at pretending they were temporally blind. And come playoff season, temporarily deaf as well.

It was who they were together.

Leah had even said it once.

There was a bond there.

A part of him that was Ben's and always would be.

He'd never really understood why her smile was always guarded and wistful when she talked about it. Not until that moment when his heart leaped in his throat as he caught sight of Ben unharmed and whole in the center of that protecting circle. Unable to do anything else but watch as his detail pumped lead into a writhing, screaming crowd that didn't know reason or fear.

"You've never been just mine, Mike. You were once. _God_ , you still don't get that, do you?"

He'd gone home after two back to back shifts - pulling a day and night detail when Simmons hadn't shown up for work and wasn't answering his cell. The director had been spitting nails and since he valued his life he'd only paused to remind Lynn's replacement that the man was a good agent and had mentioned he didn't feel well the day before. It hadn't helped, but then again he wasn't exactly feeling all that charitable either considering the time he'd clocked out. Delivering the President to Cale and Markson for his morning briefing – something regarding the spread of that new virus and the reports of unrest and rioting that seemed to have popped up from no where overnight – before dragging his tired ass back home.

He'd been too tired to do anything with the tug in his gut about it. At least what he'd managed to piece together second and third hand anyway. Figuring it would all make sense when he'd gotten a few hours of shut eye. Honestly, he'd been more preoccupied with why Leah wasn't answering and why he had five missed calls from Doris on his personal cell until he pulled up in front of the house and saw Leah's car in the driveway. The front bumper hanging onto the frame by a handful of long, jagged screws and not much else.

After that - after finding her like that - he'd barely made it back to the Pentagon in time. Screeching through an overrun security checkpoint as arterial-red splattered thick and warm across inside windows. A stark counterpoint to the wailing sirens and distant screams as he mashed his radio angrily. Trying to pin-point Cale and Markson's location as static hazed across the channel like background noise.

 _Ben._

That had been all there was. All he'd been thinking as a woman with snapping jaws and her insides trailing out of her jumped on the hood of his car and sent him slamming into the car in front of him. Feeling the jarring bounce as he rear-ended the suburban with an audible crash. Catching sight of a tangle of people fighting in front of it. Screaming. Tearing. _Teeth._

But he didn't stop. Instead, he jumped out of the car and yelled for the terrified man behind the wheel to follow him. Gripping the plastic edges like it was the only permanent thing left in the world as the driver froze in place. He didn't move. Hell, the man hadn't even _looked_ at him. Staring blankly through the windshield as people milled around the cluster in confused panic.

The crowd swallowed both their cars before he could do anything else. The rest was chaos. Running people. Blood smeared down the concrete and through the revolving doors of the main building. Guards taking pot-shots at bloody figures chasing after each other in the plaster-chipped haze. It was an accident when he caught the radio transmission - Cale requesting backup – from the east side. Yelling that they were pinned down and low on ammo. That the helicopter was twelve minutes out but they were cut off from the roof. Not enough men. Not enough-

Ben's hands had been shaking when he'd pulled him in. Curling close until they were in the center of the remaining agents. The scuff of the man's nail caught on the torn off buttons on his suit jacket. The ones Leah had grabbed when she'd turned on him downstairs. Lips pulled back in an animal snarl before she rushed at him. Horror rising like hackles as he'd backed up and up- Taking in the bottle of anti-biotics tipped over beside the shattered screen of her cell and the bandage wrapped around her leg before she threw herself at him. Teeth snapping as his hands closed around her wrists. Gentling her away again and again as she lunged at him. He'd called her name like a prayer – salt stinging at the edges of his eyes - but got nothing back but the echoes.

"Mike- _Mike_ , where's Leah? Where's-"

Markson was bleeding through his trousers.

Cale was making love to the radio – yelling for more back-up.

A single marine in full dress uniform was tucked too close to Ben's right, rifle blaring.

 _They had to get to the roof._

He bowed his head. Uncertain of what to do with the weight of it when he realized Ben's hands were still on him. Grounding him there as he shook his head. Wordless. Wondering if he looked like Ben had when Maggie had gone into the water. Wondering if the man would judge him if he didn't.

* * *

He woke later, not realizing he'd actually fallen asleep until his lashes were crusting open. Catching at the thin skin around his eyes he rubbed at them with the back of his hand. Fingers clumsy and thick with sparking cut-off circulation as he shook them out, yawning. Mouth snapping closed when he got his eyes to focus and realized the twin bed next to him was empty.

 _Fuck._

It was surprising how quickly he went from zero to max wherever Ben was concerned.

* * *

He found him a couple minutes later leaning against the counter in the kitchen. Watching the sunrise in a clean dress shirt – blue, white and too big for him around the middle - undone down to the navel.

And for more than a few reasons, his mouth went dry. Watching the early rays spread across the man's face as Ben leaned in it unconsciously. Soaking it up like it'd been years and he was a man that was unused to the touch of even the smallest comforts.

He was still there. Haunting the doorway when Ben turned around and saw him. He wasn't exactly sure where his head was at when a small smile itched across the corners of his lips. All he did know was how he felt when Ben returned it readily.

It seemed like as good of a sign as any that they had another mile left in them.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

 **Reference:**

Desuetude: the state of being no longer used or practiced.


End file.
